The Hunt Club
by Lord Blorg
Summary: When the Kents win the lottery, Clark tries to join Lex's high-society world, and winds up experiencing his darkest challenge yet.


Title: The Hunt Club  
  
Author: Lord Blorg  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville. I don't even own a farm.  
  
Synopsis: When the Kents win the lottery, Clark tries to join Lex's high-society world, and winds up experiencing his darkest challenge yet.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
THE HUNT CLUB  
by Lord Blorg  
  
*** It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. Matthew 19:24 ***  
  
Sitting in the passenger seat of Lex's convertible, holding the invitation in his lap, Clark Kent scowled. "Why are you being a jerk about this?" he said.  
  
"I'm not," Lex said. "I'm simply trying to warn you. If you go, I think you're going to hate it. Seriously."  
  
"Why?" Clark said.  
  
"It's not what it sounds like."  
  
"It sounds like fun."  
  
"Of course it does. It's supposed to. That's how they draw you in. They don't mention the fact that... well, just listen to me, you'll hate it. You're not one of them. You're not even remotely similar to them."  
  
Clark laughed. Far as he knew, he wasn't similar to *anybody*. He was the richest teenager in Kansas. His family had hit the lottery last week. It was the biggest jackpot in the state's history. The Kents raked in nearly four hundred million bucks before taxes. Clark could hardly identify with his peers anymore, who had to save their allowances to buy jeans at the mall. On top of that, Clark had abilities, special abilities-- he could see through walls, lift cars, and take a shotgun blast and saunter away unscathed. Clark was an alien. Literally. Most Smallville residents were born here; Clark had arrived via spaceship. But the superpowers and the extraterrestrial stuff were all secret, and he'd been enjoying a relatively normal life as an ordinary high school student. He did chores. He pined for the hottie across the street. He worried about acne-- did aliens get zits? Occasionally he used his powers to save a life or stop a criminal, but mostly his life was one yawn after another.  
  
Until the lottery money.  
  
Clark and his adoptive Ma and Pa had been on the front page of the Daily Planet, grinning like goons and holding an oversized novelty check. Like many big jackpot winners, the Kents became overnight celebrities. And being rich was even better than having superpowers. People were practically lining up around the block to kiss Kent ass. Today, the prestigious Hunt Club of Metropolis had contacted Clark and invited him to join. It was quite an honor. Clark immediately called Lex Luthor, his best bud-- he figured Lex would be thrilled. Lex was born wealthy. Lex was already a Hunt Club member.  
  
"Blah blah blah, wah wah wah, woe is bald me," Lex whined, or something like that. Clark wasn't listening anymore. He understood what was going on. Lex was jealous, plain old jealous.  
  
"I get it already," Clark said. "You hate it that I'm not poor now. You're used to being the only guy in Smallville with a big, fat, throbbing bank account."   
  
Lex shook his head. "That isn't it at all. Trust me. You'll see."  
  
* * *  
  
The Hunt Club met on the top floor of the tallest building in Metropolis. Lex and Clark flew there in Lex's private jet. They arrived at nine p.m., in time for cocktails. "I'm gonna keep an eye on you," Lex said.  
  
"I can take care of myself," Clark said.  
  
The décor was simple: hardwood floors, white walls, chandeliers overhead. The only real decoration was a giant altar in the middle of the room, a structure built of stone and elaborately carved wood. Lex explained that it was made of materials saved from Noah's ark, Solomon's temple, and Jesus' cross.  
  
"This organization has been around for many, many years, in various forms," Lex said. "Throughout history, we've had some pretty powerful members. Kings. Presidents. Actually, I believe George himself is here tonight."  
  
"Bush?"  
  
"No. The other one."  
  
Lex led Clark over to a withered man sitting in wheelchair. He had long unkempt white hair and wooden teeth.  
  
"Bow before me, bitches!" he shrieked, jerking and bucking in his chair. "I am your Lord!"  
  
Clark's mouth gaped open. "Is that-"  
  
"Yep," Lex said. "It's George Washington. In the flesh. Our group, in conjunction with the Freemasons, the Illuminati, and the Daughters of the American Revolution, has been keeping George alive for over two hundred years, using a special process of organ transplants and voodoo."  
  
"Constitutional rights?" the Founding Father screamed. "I wipe my ass with the Constitution!"  
  
"His mind went bad years ago," Lex said. "I doubt he even knows what he's saying."  
  
"I brought this country into the world, and goddammit, I can take this country back out!" George yelled.  
  
"That's creepy," Clark said.  
  
"My shit is your milk!" George wailed. "I am George Motherfucking Washington! Bow before me, citizens! No parking in the red zone! Bring me some koala bears to eat!"  
  
"Oh, yeah, have you ever had koala meat?" Lex said to Clark. "It's about all we eat around here. That, and roast bald eagle, and filet of baby seal."  
  
"Baby seal!" George screamed. "Yummy yummy baby seal!"  
  
"Shhh, shhh, calm down, or Tori Amos won't give you a lap dance," Lex said to George, and patted the Founding Father's shoulder.  
  
"I wish I was dead!" Tori cried from her cage.  
  
"Were," Lex corrected her. "You wish you *were* dead."  
  
Clark hung his head. "This is horrible."  
  
"I warned you," Lex said.  
  
The lights dimmed. A man stepped up onto the altar. He had long greasy brown hair, glasses, a disoriented, confused expression-- it was Ozzy Osbourne. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said, YES, ACTUALLY, I AM THE ANTICHRIST.  
  
He spoke in an incomprehensible British accent.  
  
"Eeerie wot, shag wot, bloody wot wot?" he said.  
  
"Hi, everyone," an emcee translated. "Welcome to the party. Is this a hunt club or what?"  
  
The audience shouted assent.  
  
"Kipper, petrol, smeg smeg smeg," Ozzy said.  
  
"Then let's hunt something!" the emcee said.  
  
The audience shouted assent.  
  
"Crumpets!" Ozzy blathered.  
  
"Our prey tonight is a couple of folks you'll surely recognize," the emcee translated. "One is a beloved former actor. The other is a Nobel Prize-winning scientist. Hunting them is no small honor. Ladies and gentleman, give it up for..."  
  
A panel opened in the ceiling. A large gilded cage was lowered down quickly.  
  
Inside the cage were two men, both sitting immobile in wheelchairs.  
  
"...Stephen Hawking and Christopher Reeve!"  
  
The audience went wild. They applauded, they hooted and hollered. A few fired pistols into the air. Both Hawking and Reeve's faces were sheer blank terror.  
  
After a minute, the crowd quieted, and Clark Kent cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.  
  
"Aw, come on," he said. "This is just plain wrong! It's totally unfair! They're both paraplegics!"  
  
"They've got those zippy little motorized wheelchairs," the emcee replied. "Besides, we'll let them have a ten-second head start."  
  
"I'll make a deal with you," Clark said. "Let Mr. Reeve and Dr. Hawking go, and you can hunt me and Lex instead."  
  
Lex's eyes bugged. "Say what?"  
  
"I may be wealthy and sophisticated now, but I haven't forgotten the values Pa taught me growing up on the farm. He said that it's wrong to hunt paraplegics. Even for food. We're supposed to protect the weak."  
  
"Hey! Look!" Lex pointed. "It's Lana in a bikini!"  
  
Clark turned his gaze in the opposite direction.  
  
Lex ran away.  
  
"Actually, Clark, we were planning to hunt you anyway," the emcee said. "New member initiation and all that. If you live, you're in the club. If you die, we feed you to George Washington."  
  
"Kryptonian meat! Yummy yummy yummy!" George shouted.  
  
"Fine." Clark smiled smugly. "I doubt you have anything that can harm me."  
  
"Oh, I beg to differ," the emcee said. "For we have found your true nemesis. We've been watching you for a long time, Clark. We are in league with the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Girl Scouts, after all. We know everything. We know of your special abilities, and we have combed the galaxy to find your foil.  
  
"Clark... get ready to meet....  
  
"Bizarro!"  
  
Out of the shadows leapt an identical copy of Tom, I mean, Clark. He could've been a clone. Except, his face was totally fucked up and shit, like as if his face had been carved by a third grade art class.  
  
"Boobies!" Bizarro shouted. "Boobies boobies boobies Lana boobies!"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


End file.
